


The Little Sadist that Could

by certaintendencies



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M, Masochism, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanna Pull Chord Overstreet's Hair until he cries."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Sadist that Could

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that in this case S&M includes hair pulling, scratching, slapping, deep hickeys, and spanking, along with mild D/s.

“Chris”

“Shut up, Chord.”

“Kouuuuuh- _pahh_.”

“Chord.”

“Kouuuuuh- _pahh_.”

“Stop.”

“…I am your father.”

 

Chord chooses that moment to plop down into Chris’s lap, knocking Chris’s phone out of his hands and looming in so close their foreheads almost touch. The phone clatters to the ground, and Chris sighs. Chord squints meaningfully. “Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

Chris shoves Chord off his lap. “Pick up my phone, please.”

Scooping up the phone from his place on the floor, Chord glances at the screen and then winces. “Um.”

“You didn’t.”

Chord hands it over, face still stuck in a wince, one eye peering dolefully up at Chris, the other squinted shut. “I think I did.”

Chris snatches the phone away from him with one hand, using the other to reach out and whap him upside the head.

“What was that for?!” Chord yelps, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his hair.

“What do you  _think_  it was for, you jerk!” Chris replies irritably, studying the cracks that start at one corner of the screen and spider-web two-thirds of the way across it. He pushes the power button a few times, to no avail. “Damn it.”

Chord grumbles something, and Chris reaches out without looking, grabbing hold when he feels Chord’s hair against his fingers and yanking mercilessly. Chris looks up when Chord whimpers, surprised to see actual tears in his eyes, but doesn’t let go. Switching his hold to something gentler, he drags Chord close and leans in as menacingly as he can. “Next time, when I tell you to stop? You’re gonna stop.”

Chord nods, eyes wide and wet and desperate, and Chris lets him go. He falls back clumsily, landing hard on his ass, and for a moment, Chris feels kind of guilty.

But then he notices the tent in the front of Chord’s pants.

“Dude,” Chord breathes, looking down as if he’s just noticed it as well.

“Is… Really?” Chris asks. Chord looks at him helplessly, and suddenly Chris hears his name being called from across the studio.

“I have to go,” Chris says flatly, eyes settling once more on obscene press of Chord’s dick through his trousers. Clutching his cracked phone far too tightly in his hand, Chris lurches to his feet and gives Chord’s red, confused face one last glance before he gets the hell out of there. “I have to go.”

***

That night in his trailer, freshly showered and changed, Chris can’t help but remember the way Chord’s cock had curved out, straining against his zipper. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, closing his eyes.

“Hey.”

“YAH! What – _Jesus,_  Chord, knock much?”

“Sorry. I was gonna knock but it just sort of swung open when I pulled.” Chord says, not waiting for an invitation to clamber up the steps and shut the door behind him.

“Why were you pulling- hello, oh… Hi,” Chris mutters, backing out of Chord’s way and allowing him all the way inside. They finally get situated, Chord in the middle of the cramped trailer and Chris pressed as close to the wall as he can get while still looking like he’s not trying to get away from Chord. He takes a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I kinda wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Chris asks, as chipper and oblivious as possible.

“Um, before, when I got that boner?”

“Right.” Chris deflates momentarily, and then rallies, figuring he can nip this in the bud. “It happens, you know. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We can forget about it.”

Chord’s brow furrows, his mouth turning down in a puzzled frown.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Chris assures him, reaching out to pat his shoulder awkwardly. “It really- it doesn’t mean anything. You’re fine.”

“Well,” Chord hesitates, looking down at his shoes and then back up. “I was talking to Mark about it.”

Chris sighs, waving away Chord’s questioning look and gesturing for him to sit on the couch.

  
Chord sits in the middle, and Chris slides down next to the armrest, hugging it close and crossing his legs away from Chord.

“He said I might be gay.”

“Of course he did,” Chris mutters.

Chord shrugs and rubs his hands down his thighs. “I said I didn’t think I was, ‘cause I’ve always liked girls, and then he said I could be bisexual.”

“One accidental erection doesn’t make you bisexual,” Chris informs him.

“Yeah,” Chord says vaguely. “And then he started talking about cocks-”

“ _What_?”

“Like, it’s some sort of weird orange bird called a Cock-something?” Chord attempts to clarify. “Anyway. I guess the dude birds get with other guy birds sometimes, not just lady birds.”

“I see.” Chris needs to remember to pull  _Mark’s_  hair next time he sees him. “How helpful of Mark to point that out.”

Nodding, Chord continues, “I got Jenna to pull my hair, and Kevin to give me a titty-twister.”

“ _Chord_ ,” Chris moans, burying his face in his hands.

“Just to see! Just to see if I…  _reacted_  the same way.”

Chris keeps his face hidden, taking slow, even breaths to help himself stay calm.

“I didn’t,” Chord continues helpfully. “I think it’s just you.”

“Chord…” Chris starts hesitantly, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Chord is quick to reassure him, one large hand coming down to rest on Chris’s knee. “I promise, I’m just, I’m sort of offering, I guess.” Chord sits back again, and the warmth of his hand disappears, leaving Chris free to breathe again until he continues, “I know you get kind of… frustrated, sometimes. With me and, and-” He waves a hand around in front of himself. “Other things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris lies.

“Okay. Well if you ever  _did_  get frustrated, and you wanted someone to take it out on.” Chord laughs quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Pretty sure I’d enjoy it.”

“It’s just a physical reaction,” Chris says weakly. “It doesn’t- It doesn’t mean you’ll  _like_  it.”

“I kept getting boners all day,” Chord says, shaking his head. “Like, every time I thought about it,  _boom_ , boner.”

“Okay!” Chris exclaims, standing. “Okay, that’s enough. Thank you for your… offer, but I’m not really comfortable with discussing it anymore, so.” Chris swallows, gaze snagging on the bulge in Chord’s jeans. “ _Really_?”

“Sorry.” Chord hunches over slightly, as though that helps anything. “I jerked off before I came so this wouldn’t happen, but-”

“ _Chris_!”

“Lea!” Chris whispers urgently, gaze still locked on Chord’s erection. “She can’t see you like this. Sit down!”

Chord obeys with a wobbly lurch, stepping backwards and dropping down on the couch. Chris plops down on top of him, ignoring the gasp it evokes, crossing his legs and straightening his back just as Lea bursts through the door.

“Chris! Oh! Chord, good, you’re here too. Oh, don’t you two look  _cozy_ ,” she says, going from excited to lecherous in one breath.

“What do you want, Lea?” Chris asks with false patience, trying not to squirm against Chord’s cock, which is pressing, hard and insistent, against his ass.

“You wouldn’t answer your phone so we didn’t know if you got the message. We’re all going out to dinner. I booked a whole restaurant so you have to come.”

Chris shifts minutely, and Chord’s cock twitches beneath him. “ _Ah_ \- uh, I don’t know if I’m feeling-”

He’s cut off by a finger in his face. Lea keeps pointing at him as she speaks, arm outstretched and finger wobbling ever-so-slightly, millimeters from his nose. “We’re  _all_  going out to dinner.”

“Okay,” Chord says, one hand coming to rest carefully against Chris’s hip. “When?”

“Twenty minutes in the parking lot.” She finally drops her finger. “We’re carpooling.”

She’s gone before Chris can say anything, a whirlwind of hair and legs and flouncing as she blows back out the door. “Don’t be late!”

Chris gives a shaky exhale and slumps back against Chord once she’s out of sight, and then squawks and rolls off when Chord’s dick twitches again as he lets out a shuddering gasp.

“Sorry!” Chord exclaims breathlessly, helping Chris back onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Chris smooths his shirt down and props himself gingerly up on the couch, waving away Chord’s attempts at straightening his collar. “It’s fine, Chord, it’s okay. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I should go,” Chord says, standing up suddenly. Chris can’t help but get an eyeful of his dick, eye-level and prominent as it is. “I won’t sit next to you at the restaurant, I promise. I have to go now, though, to… take care of… stuff.”

_Jack off_ , Chris thinks as all the air leaves his lungs,  _he means jack off_. “Stay,” he says thinly, dragging his gaze away from Chord’s dick and looking at the way he’s breathing, just a little too fast. Chris takes a deep breath. “Just for a second, we really do need to talk.”

Chord looks at him, confused and wary.

Chris raises his eyebrows.

The couch creaks when Chord drops onto it, and Chris turns to him and breathes in deeply. “You don’t have to stop sitting next to me, okay? And you don’t have to be… weird around me. I can deal.”

“Will you still be mean to me sometimes?”

Frowning, Chris turns to face Chord fully. “What do you mean?”

“Like, will you still hit me and stuff, even if you- even if you know how much I like it?”

“I do  _not_  hit you that often,” Chris says, even as he runs through their last few interactions and finds that Chord hasn’t gotten away from him without at least a pinch in quite some time. “Fuck.” Chris looks at Chord, a knot tightening in his gut. “I’ve been pulling your pigtails,” he murmurs.

Chord feels cautiously at his hair. “I don’t have any pigtails.”

“Stop that.” Chris slaps Chord’s hand away from his hair before he realizes what he’s doing. Chord drops his hand, lips curving up slowly in a smile.

Huffing out a breath, Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Shut up.”

Chord raises his hands in surrender and Chris sighs. “Just… go jack-off in your trailer, sicko. You’re sitting next to me at dinner.”

***

They sit next to each other on the ride over, too.

Chord is the last to arrive. He jogs up to the cars and slides in next to Chris, red-faced and disheveled. Chris tries very hard not to stare at the pink of his cheeks or the way his hair is mussed, like maybe he tugged on it.

“ _I was thinking of you_ ,” Chord leans in and whispers after he catches Chris looking a few times.

Chris smacks his arm and knocks their knees together. “ _Chord_!”

“No fighting, kids,” Naya crows happily from the driver’s seat, eyeing them in the rearview mirror. “I will turn this car around!”

Becca peers at them curiously from Chris’s other side, but doesn’t say anything.

They make it to the restaurant without further incident, although Chris gets a funny look from Amber when he slides into a booth beside Chord instead of joining her.

“Hey, bro,” Kevin gives him a nod from across the table as Lea climbs in next to Chris and shoves him farther down the bench than is absolutely necessary, cramming him up against Chord. Kevin is sitting between Jenna and Darren, who are attempting to have a conversation over his head about something to do with burps.

Extracting his shoulder from under Chord’s arm, Chris smiles. “Hi.”

“So! How is everyone?” Lea asks, opening her menu with more than warranted gusto, making Chris lean into Chord again. Chris plants his feet and slides towards her in retaliation, pushing until she almost falls off the edge, and then stomps on Chord’s foot for good measure when he laughs at Lea’s surprised squeak.

“You guys okay?” Darren asks as Jenna leans over to peer under the table.

“We’re fine,” Chris assures him distractedly, waving Lea away when she tries to poke him in the ribs.

There’s a loud chorus of voices from the table next to theirs, and then Vanessa strolls up with her phone out. “Say cheese!”

They obey, and Chord presses up behind him, hooking his chin over Chris’s shoulder as he does, his voice close and deep in Chris’s ear when he follows Vanessa’s instructions.

“Okay now one with me!” Vanessa instructs, turning around and crouching in front of the table. Chord pushes in even closer, leaning low over the table with Chris, a steadying hand on Chris’s waist, fingers rubbing small, firm circles.

“What are you doing?” Chris asks quietly as Vanessa tells them to hold still because the first one was blurry.

“I- sorry,” Chord replies after a beat, his fingers sliding away from Chris’s hip as he lifts his chin away from Chris’s shoulder.

Chris finds, much to his displeasure, that he misses the contact.

***

Chord seems more careful with Chris after that, sliding all the way over against the wall and studiously keeping his elbows to himself for the whole meal. Chris almost wants to pinch him, but he knows he should probably stop sending mixed signals.

He lasts until dessert.

Chord’s shoulder brushes against Chris as he leans over to grab his dropped napkin, and he immediately apologizes.

Dropping his fork, Chris raises his eyes to the ceiling and seals his lips together tightly.

“Is there something wrong with your pie?” Jenna asks.

The table is quiet for a moment before Darren and Kevin nearly knock over their drinks trying to grab his plate at the same time.

“Tas’ fahn ta meh,” Lea mumbles around a mouthful of it a moment later, hugging the plate to her chest as the other side of the table pouts collectively.

“I have to pee,” Chris says balling up his napkin where his plate used to be and waiting for Lea to slide out of the seat before he grabs ahold of Chord’s shirt just under the collar. “Chord has to pee too.”

“How did you know?” Chord asks as he crawls out behind Chris, palm slipping off the edge of the table when he reaches it. Chris yanks him up, stretching his shirt obscenely across his torso as he clambers the rest of the way out, letting him go once he seems reasonably steady on his feet.

“Just shut up and come with me,” Chris hisses under his breath, straightening his shoulders and heading towards the restroom.

It’s empty, thankfully, and Chris waits for Chord to follow him in before locking the door behind them. When he turns around Chord is standing in front of a urinal.

“No!” Chris shouts, wincing immediately when Chord yelps. He tones it down. “Chord, what the hell? This is not actually a bathroom break.”

“But I have to go!”

“Hold it! We’re talking.”

Chord sighs and drops his head back dramatically.

“Stop that.”

Chord straightens up petulantly and eyes Chris, hands still hovering close to his zipper. “What did you want to talk about?”

“What do you think? About how you’ve been treating me like a  _leper_  since we took those pictures, and how you apologized for just brushing against me, and how if you want me to act normal around you then you’re gonna have to meet me halfway,” Chris says in a rush, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re infuriating sometimes, did you know that?”

“I don’t mean to be.” Chord looks at him, hands finally falling away from his fly as he shrugs. “I guess I  _sometimes_  mean to be.”

Chris makes a frustrated noise and claws his hands in the air for a split second, dropping them as soon as he sees the way Chord tracks the movement with his eyes. “ _Why_?”

“I dunno,” Chord lies. Chris can read it in his averted gaze and the way he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Look at me.”

It takes a few seconds, but Chord’s blue eyes eventually lock onto Chris’s.

“You’re coming back to my place tonight.”

Chord sucks in a breath.

Chris raises a finger. “And we’re gonna talk.”

Chord deflates, slightly, but Chris figures he can just deal with the disappointment for the moment. He raises his finger a bit higher. “ _And_  you’re not gonna apologize for accidentally touching me. Ever again.”

That earns him a nod from Chord, and a quiet, “Okay.”

They continue staring at each other for a little while, until Chord cuts through the tension with an awkward shudder. “Can I pee now?”

***

Chris is tired by the time he gets home, eyelids heavy and feet dragging on the way to his door. He stands up a little straighter when Chord’s headlights sweep across the house as he pulls in beside Chris’s car.

“Okay,” Chris shakes himself, loosening his shoulders. “Okay.”

He unlocks his front door, opening it just as Chord trots up, and gestures him inside. “Come on in.”

They sit on the couch in the living room, Chord smack in the middle and Chris making a point to sit close enough to touch if either of them wanted.

“So,” Chris says, patting his thighs. Chord looks at him, curious and wary at the same time. “This shouldn’t take long,” Chris assures him. “I just needed to have this conversation somewhere that wasn’t a public restroom.”

“Okay?”

“I need you to promise me some things,” Chris says, turning to face Chord, his knee sliding up onto the cushions.

Chord turns to match him, holding his gaze, mouth in a solemn, thoughtless pout. Chris’s eyes trace the shape of his lower lip, and then snap back to meet his gaze.

“I need you to promise never to turn off like that again,” he says seriously. “That was just a little misunderstanding over personal space, and you totally closed down on me.”

Chord looks down. “Sorry.”

“Just promise,” Chris says, leaning over and trying to catch Chord’s gaze again, “because I’m not gonna pull your hair if we might not be friends afterwards.”

Chord blinks at the couch cushion, and slowly raises his head “…What?”

“Promise me,” Chris urges. “Promise it won’t get weird.”

“I promise,” Chord breathes, eyes wide. “I promise, I swear.”

Chris nods, satisfied for the time being. “Good. One more promise.”

“Yeah?”

Chris reaches a hand out, stroking his fingers through the hair at Chord’s temple, behind his ear. “You have to tell me if I do anything you don’t like. Like, right away, you  _have_  to tell me.”

“I’ll tell you,” Chord says, leaning into Chris’s touch and keeping his gaze trained on Chris’s face. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

They spend a few moments just looking at each other, and then Chris pinches a lock of Chord’s hair between his fingers, twisting and pulling and watching the way Chord’s eyes flutter shut. “More?”

They way Chord sighs out his approval, grunting and arching into Chris’s tugging, sends a shiver through Chris. He shakes his head and gathers more of Chord’s hair in his fingers, yanking this time. Chord’s head jerks back, his throat exposed, and Chris follows the line of it down. His chest is heaving, like he’s running a marathon instead of getting his hair pulled. Chris’s gaze trails lower, and Chord’s cock is hard again, bulging under his zipper.

Swallowing through the sudden dryness in his throat, Chris pulls Chord closer by his hair, shaking him a little when Chord doesn’t immediately look at him.

“Wha’?” Chord breathes, eyes taking a moment to focus.

“Take your shirt off,” Chris tells him, letting go of his hair. Chord obeys, pulling his shirt off and flinging it behind the couch, watching Chris with wide eyes like he’s waiting for more instructions. Chris sucks a slow breath in, letting his gaze wander down Chord’s defined torso. “Un-” Chris starts, clearing his throat when his voice comes out too rough. “Unbutton your pants.” A thrill shoots through him when Chord moves to follow his command, leaning back and setting his feet flat on the ground. Chris shoots a hand out, fingertips pressing lightly on Chord’s knuckles, inches from Chord’s dick. “Just the button,” he instructs, voice raw. “Leave it zipped.”

Chord lets out a shaky breath and carefully slips the button free, thighs flexing as he flattens his palms over them as soon as he’s done.

Sliding closer on the couch, until his knee is pressing into Chord’s thigh, Chris cards his fingers through the hair at the back of Chord’s head and then clenches his fist.

Chris watches Chord’s stomach work with his labored breaths, the way his fingers dig into his legs. He looks back to Chord’s face, maneuvers him until he’s looking at Chris, a thin ring of blue around his dilated pupils. “Can I touch you?” he asks, noting Chord’s reflexive swallow.

“Yeah, yes.” Chord sucks in a breath, eyes clenching shut. “Please.”

Chris keeps Chord anchored tight, a steady pulling pressure, and flattens his other hand on Chord’s chest. He just wants to touch. He wants to run his fingers down the ridges of Chord’s body, slide them under Chord’s waistband and feel the weight of his cock, the heat of it.

He shakes his head, that’s not what he’s here for, and scratches his nails down Chord’s skin, leaving four neat white lines that quickly flood red. Chord bucks and shudders, a whine in his throat, but Chris holds him fast. “Okay?”

Chord nods, throat working harshly.

“What about here?” Chris scratches his way to one of Chord’s nipples, tight and pink and sweet looking. He pinches it, watching Chord’s face flush red as he nods. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

Chord keeps nodding, nearly frantic, and Chris eases up on his hair, pets through it a bit so he can grab onto a different section. “What about my mouth?” he whispers, suddenly desperate to taste Chord’s skin. “Can I use my-”

“ _Yes_!” Chord gasps, hips jerking off the couch. “Please, Chris,  _please_ -”

Chris reacts before he knows what he’s doing, slapping Chord and then using the grip on his hair to yank him down until they’re eye to eye. They stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide and breathing heavy.

Chris’s palm comes up to Chord’s cheek again, rubbing gently this time, soothing the red. Chord leans into the soft touch, and Chris strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I didn’t mean to do it that hard,” Chris says, moving his hand away and staring at the splotch of pink on Chord’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” Chord whispers, his voice shot. “I like it.”

Chris nods, “Don’t- Don’t interrupt, me, okay? When we’re… like this.”

“Promise,” Chord rumbles, thick and jagged.

Licking his lips, Chris carefully pulls Chord back until he’s sitting up straight, his stomach exposed once more. The head of his cock is visible, sticking out just above the open button of his jeans, trapped against his skin by the elastic waistband of his underwear. A bead of precome wells at the tip, and Chris swallows, looking back up to Chord’s face.

His mouth.

Chris was going to use his mouth.

“No,” he murmurs, and Chord looks at him questioningly, but Chris just shakes his head and leans over. “Tell me when to stop.” His eyes close as he sets his lips around Chord’s nipple, his free hand worrying the other one. Chord exhales a shaky breath through his nose, and Chris scrapes his teeth across Chord’s skin, biting lightly and sucking as hard as he can. He sucks and bites and mouths until Chord’s nipple is a hard pebble between his teeth and Chord himself is whining each of his breaths out, legs shifting restlessly and head tossing against Chris’s hold.

“Okay,” Chord pleads. “Chris, please, okay.” Hands brush tentatively at the back of his head, ghost down his shoulders. Chris shivers and gives Chord’s chest one last kiss.

“Sorry,” Chris breathes, straightening up and looking at his handiwork.

Chord’s nipple is dark, small stippled patches of skin around it purpled with the blood Chris drew to just beneath the surface. His cheeks are wet, when Chris glances up at him, tear tracks run to his chin and curve beneath it, down his jaw. Chris touches the moisture, rubs it between the pads of his fingers and thumb. “You okay?”

Nodding wordlessly, Chord slumps against the back of the couch, like his strings are cut, like Chris’s mouth was the only thing holding him up.

Chris glances down to see Chord’s cock, hard and leaking heavily, a clear mess smeared across his abdomen and slowly dripping down, back beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“You wanna come?” Chris asks gently.

“Please,” Chord whines, hips thrusting up.

Chris nods, letting go of Chord’s hair to comb his fingers through the sweaty locks. “Okay,” he says, eyeing Chord’s bitten-red lips. He reaches his hand up to touch them, and then stops before he gets there. “…Can I kiss you?”

Chord goes still, the breath in his chest catching in the middle of an inhale, and then he lets out a sob, surging forward, crashing into Chris. Their lips meet as they fall back onto the couch, hot skin and hard pressure.  

Chord’s bruised chest slams into Chris’s palm.

He comes with a shout, the sound muffled in Chris’s mouth. He curls in on himself, knees drawn up and shuddering, body knocking clumsily into Chris’s.

Chris chases his lips, grabs him by the hair and holds him still to kiss him through it. He holds on until Chord’s shocked moans have soaked into him, until Chord is kissing back, sloppy and heartfelt, hands sweeping across Chris’s sides and curling at the back of his neck.

“ _Huhnn_ ,” Chord groans dramatically once the quivering has tapered off. He huffs out one more stuttering breath against Chris’s lips and then flops over with his arms tucked close, dropping to the floor before starfishing out. He wiggles until his head and shoulders are under the coffee table, blinking at Chris through the glass.

Chris peers at him, arms braced against the edge of the couch. “Are you okay?”

He nods slowly. “I’m the best I’ve ever been, except I think my nipple might fall off.”

“I told you to tell me when.”

“If it falls off I’ll give it to you.”

Chris ponders that, setting his chin down on his crossed forearms. “As a present, or like you blaming me?  _Here’s my nipple, look what you did._ ”

“A present.” Chord reaches up and shoves the coffee table back so he can sit up without bumping his head. He leans forward, his face earnest and only inches from Chris’s. “I thought you were never gonna kiss me.”

Chris feels his cheeks getting hot. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

Chord cocks his head, gaze flicking to Chris’s lips and then back to his face. “You know what I want?”

“What?”

“I want you to teach me how to give good blowjobs.”

Chris chokes on his own spit, rolling away to cough into his elbow and hide his flaming face for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

Chord’s voice is concerned, and very close to Chris’s ear. Chris opens his eyes, his lower face still hidden by his arm, and looks at Chord.

“Chris?”

Chris holds up his other hand, index finger pointed upward in a  _just a moment_  gesture. He coughs again, and then clears his throat as he lowers his arm. “So, hmm. Blowjobs.”

Chord nods.

Sitting up is difficult. Chris is strangely shaky, and he’s also got an obnoxiously persistent erection trapped awkwardly in his jeans. He ignores it in favor of furthering the blowjob conversation. “…Any particular reason why you wanna brush up on your bj skills?”

Chord shuffles over on his knees until he’s directly between Chris’s legs. He sets his palms on Chris’s thighs, thumbs stroking restlessly. “I want you to like it.”

The air in Chris’s lungs seems to disappear for half a second, leaving him breathless and reeling. He lifts a hand to cup Chord’s jaw, brushing the pad of his thumb over Chord’s bottom lip and nodding wordlessly.

“Chris?”

“Okay,” Chris finds his voice. He leans over, drawing Chord towards him, and whispers it again, right up against Chord’s lips. “ _Okay_.”

Chord kisses him.

Chris draws them up, lips to lips, until Chris is slouched against the back of the couch and Chord is arching up between Chris’s legs and leaning heavily on his stomach, naked torso straining.

Chord’s hands clamp down on Chris’s thighs, fingers twisting in the stretched-tight denim, and he breaks the kiss, sagging down on Chris’s chest. He looks up at Chris with half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily.

Chris twists a lock of hair out of Chord’s eyes and slides his fingers back through the sweaty blond strands. Something tugs at his insides, insistent and tight, and Chris is already so, so gone. He may as well help himself along. “You wanna go to bed?”

Chord grins.

***

Chris catches sight of them in his bedroom mirror, the juxtaposition of them. Chris is still fully dressed, a little flushed but otherwise presentable. Chord is following behind with his pants unbuttoned, naked from the waist up, hair a disheveled mess. He’s watching Chris with unguarded anticipation, unaware that Chris can see him in the mirror.

When Chris turns around to look at him face-to-face the only thing that changes is Chord’s smile getting bigger, so Chris kisses it.

Chord melts into Chris’s touch like it’s permission to relax. His smile softens and his head tilts easily when Chris grabs his hair to guide him closer, fit them together even better. “Bed,” Chris murmurs eventually, laughing when Chord stumbles along with him as they dance clumsily toward the bed, spinning so Chris can shove Chord onto the mattress first.

Chord lands with a bounce, and Chris climbs over him, knees and palms sinking into the soft, rumpled bed cover. He dips his head and shoulders low to drag a kiss across Chord’s lips. “You really want this,” he says, grinning when Chord simply grabs his waist and pulls him back in for a hard, biting kiss.

Chord follows him when Chris falls to the side, scooting up to the head of the bed. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated – rushed, but no matter how ungainly Chord is, it doesn’t detract from the view. Muscles shift, strong and lean beneath Chord’s skin, the breadth of his shoulders complimented by the dip of his back and lean cut of his waist. The dip at the base of his throat is pronounced and enticing, and Chris runs his fingertips across it before tracing them down to the swollen, bruised skin of his nipple. The look on Chord’s face, cheeks flushed and mouth slack, eyes clamped shut in pain even as he leans into the touch, sets Chris’s heart racing.

“Can I?” Chord asks through a groan.

“Yeah.” Chris nods and pets through Chord’s messy hair, tugging gently when he gets to the back of Chord’s head, leading him down. “Anything, anything you want, you can-  _uhn,_ uh… that. You can do that.”

Chord looks up from where he’s nuzzling between the buttons of Chris’s shirt, lifting his mouth away as he sinks lower. “But you have to tell me. Teach me what’s good, okay?”

Chris nods and gets a better hold on Chord’s hair, twisting and pulling and letting his knees fall open with a shuddering breath. “I’ll let you know,” he manages to say, as Chord tugs his shirt up and buries his face against Chris’s stomach. “When you’re-  _uh_ , hmm… When you’re doing good.”

Chord’s lips drag to the waistband of Chris’s jeans, acquiescing when Chris urges him impatiently down. Fingers work at unbuttoning his jeans while the heat of Chord’s mouth bleeds through his fly, the muted pressure of his lips sending sparks up Chris’s spine.

“Oh, mm,” Chris bucks up and keeps Chord pressed tight against him. “That’s-”

“Good?” Chord asks, turning to press his cheek against Chris’s dick as he lets out a breath. His fingers catch on the zipper and he lifts his face away as he draws it down.

“Yes,” Chris breathes out as a shaky sigh, watching Chord’s big hand cup him through his underwear, palming him and working him until the head of his cock is outlined starkly through the thin, white cotton. Chris’s breath catches in his throat as Chord lowers his lips and sucks him through the fabric. Chris curls up, an embarrassing sound tearing out of his throat as Chord’s pink lips wrap around the head of his dick, as his tongue presses against the damp, scratchy cotton, molding it hot and wet against him.

Chris slides his fingers around the back of Chord’s neck, nails scratching across warm skin. “Get it out,” he urges, hips rolling shakily against the mattress, itching to thrust. “Get it out,” he says again, watching Chord’s fingers slip under the elastic of his underwear, dragging it down, “and put it in your mouth.”

Chord breathes out through his nose, heavy and uneven, and pulls Chris’s underwear down, tugging the jeans along as well, until they rest below Chris’s hips. Dropping his jaw, he looks up at Chris, his bottom lip fat and slick, and lowers his head, fingers guiding Chris’s cock to meet him.

Warmth twists through Chris as his dick disappears between Chord’s lips, wet heat enveloping him, tongue pressing along the underside. “Just like that.” He pets Chord’s cheek with one hand, using the other to hold his head still while he carefully nudges his hips up, his cock farther in, and then backs off. “Yeah,” he sighs, licking his dry lips as a blush stains Chord’s cheeks, as his eyes flutter shut and he lets out a soft, sweet moan around Chris’s cock. “Okay?”

“Mm,” Chord hums, nodding the smallest bit, his tongue pressing smooth against the head of Chris’s dick.

Chris fucks in again, slow and steady, one hand dropping to the mattress to support his weight. “You’re doing so good,” Chris tells him, trying to keep his voice even as Chord’s lips catch and drag at his dick. Chord looks happy at the praise, eyes lighting up as he looks at Chris through his lashes.

A wave of tenderness rushes over Chris, and he scratches through Chord’s hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. He fucks Chord’s mouth shallowly, a gentle, trembling rock of his hips as he works to keep it slow and manageable, to maintain control over the ache in his hips, the urge to bury himself in the wet heat of Chord’s mouth. “Can you take more, do you think?”

“Mmph,” Chord mumbles eagerly, sinking farther down on Chris’s cock, until Chris is bumping against the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat. Chord closes his eyes again, and before Chris can draw back Chord is swallowing, throat closing rhythmically, wet and hot and tight around the head of Chris’s cock.

“Shit shit shit,” Chris mutters, jerking his hips back before he can accidentally shove his dick down Chord’s throat.

“What’s wrong?” Chord asks, voice thick as he squeezes at Chris’s hips, fingers rubbing restlessly.

“Don’t wanna-” Chris pants, laughing at himself as he says it, “hurt you.”

Chord laughs as well, grinning and leaning down, pushing his forehead into the hollow beneath the jut of Chris’s right hip. He twists his head, peering up at Chris through tousled hair, his breath whispering over Chris’s aching balls. “Yes you do.”

“Get the fuck up here,” Chris exhales, pulling at Chord’s shoulders.

“Hang on, let me-” Chord stalls, sitting back on his knees. Something hot flares in Chris’s stomach, the urge to drag Chord up close, to tell him not to argue, but Chord is still smiling at him, a little hopefully, as he tugs on Chris’s jeans, and Chris relaxes back against the mattress, letting Chord divest him of his pants and underwear.

“Yours too,” he manages to say, pulling a leg up as Chord yanks the denim over his heel. “Hurry up.”

Chris loses his shirt as Chord struggles out of his pants, and then he reaches out, drawing Chord down for a kiss before he rolls them over. “You’re hard again,” Chris points out as he glides his hips down, slotting their cocks together and grinning at Chord’s groan. “How many times have you come today?”

“Four,” Chord wheezes, his hands coming up to hover by Chris’s shoulders. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Chris allows, dropping his head as his hips swivel, smacking a kiss against Chord’s lips. “Thank you for asking.”

Chord’s hands slip, dry and warm, over Chris’s shoulder blades and down the line of his back, settling at the top of his ass and pressing restlessly there. Chris fucks against him a few more times, spreading the slickness from Chord’s leaking cock and closing his eyes at the feeling as they glide together. “You get so fucking wet.”

“Can’t help it,” Chord breathes, his fingers digging in to Chris’s skin, holding him close.

An idea hits Chris, smacks into him like a bus and stills the grind of his hips. He shushes Chord’s disappointed whines and leans back, looking down at Chord’s flushed face. “You ever fucked a guy before?”

“Oh fuck,” Chord cries, and Chris is still close enough to feel the way his dick twitches, to watch as his body tightens and curls up. “Holy fuck, you can’t just say shit like that,” he pants, slumping back down against the mattress.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Chris says easily, and then shifts his weight to one arm, using his other hand to grip Chord’s chin, catching his eyes. “Answer the question.”

“Fuck. No, no I haven’t.” Licking his lips, Chord’s gaze flickers down Chris’s body and back up again. “I haven’t done anything with a guy before.”

“That’s… really hot,” Chris tells him, hearing his voice go low and rough without his say so. Putting his palms on Chord’s chest and planting his knees on the mattress, Chris thrusts against him again, the hot, hard press of their cocks making him close his eyes. It’s easier, like that, to ask what he asks next. “Do you wanna fuck me?”

“ _God_  yes.” A pressure at his hips, Chord’s hands gripping at him and kneading. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” Chord breathes.

Chris opens his eyes, focusing immediately on Chord’s heavily-lidded gaze. “You’re gonna have to work for it.”

***

“What do you want me to do?” Chord asks, leaning up on his elbows and watching as Chris rifles through his nightstand drawer.

“Well, right now I want you to, uh,” Chris says distractedly, picking up a bottle of lube and peering closely at the label before discarding it, searching for another, “to stay where you are and look pretty.” He glances up, taking in Chord’s tousled hair and kiss-plumped lips. The sight makes him smile. “Good boy.”

Chord grins, lying back down flat and bringing one hand up to brush absently across his bruised nipple. He tucks his other arm behind his head with a happy-sounding sigh, and Chris finds what he was looking for, clambering back on the bed and straddling Chord’s hard stomach.

“You have a choice, okay?”

“Okay,” Chord agrees, the hand behind his head coming down to rest, wide and hot, at Chris’s hip.

Leaning down and combing his fingers through Chord’s hair, Chris watches Chord’s face for a moment before dipping low. He presses a kiss beneath Chord’s ear and whispers softly, “I want you to open me up for you.”

“Okay,” Chord breathes, the grip on Chris’s hip going tight.

Chris continues, his breath raising goosebumps down the skin of Chord’s neck, “You can use your fingers.” Sliding a hand down Chord’s arm and tangling their fingers together, Chris presses the small bottle of lube into Chord’s palm. “Or-” He traces his fingertips back over the line of Chord’s arm, over his shoulder and throat, and then up his jaw and chin to press at his lower lip, drawing it down until Chord nips at the pads of his fingers, grinning up at him. Chris smiles back, sliding two fingers past Chord’s teeth, his breath hitching when Chord starts to suck at them. “ _Or_ ,” he says again, shakily, trying not to sound too hopeful. “You can use your mouth.”

“Mah mouf?” Chord looks utterly puzzled.

Sighing, Chris removes his fingers from Chord’s mouth and pats him gently on the cheek. “Fingers it is.”

“No,” Chord says, disgruntled. “Wait a minute.” He wraps his arms around Chris’s waist, holding him in place. “Hang on just a minute.”

Slumping against Chord with a groan, Chris bows his back and rubs his cock against Chord’s abs, burying his face in the curve of Chord’s shoulder when Chord doesn’t relinquish his hold.

“You want me to- to eat you out,” Chord realizes. “Your ass.”

“Oh my god, forget it.” Chris can feel his face heating up, a sweep of burning embarrassment slinking down his neck and his chest.

“I don’t wanna forget it,” Chord argues, and his hands move, fingers curling around the backs of Chris’s thighs, hitching him up farther on Chord’s torso. “I wanna try it, come on.”

“You do not.”

“You said I had a choice,” Chord reminds him, voice serious and mouth pouting when Chris chances a look. “So.”

“So what?”

“So how do you want to do this? You wanna sit on my face, or what?”

Chris is thrown off balance in more ways than one when Chord grabs his thighs and hoists him higher, until he’s straddling Chord’s chest.

“Do it this way and you can pull my hair,” Chord points out as Chris catches himself against the headboard.

“Pushy,” Chris complains, tugging on Chord’s hair despite himself. Chord grins up at him, one hand still urging him higher as the other strokes lightly down his cock.

“Just let me try it, please? I wanna try.”

The catch in Chord’s low voice, the borderline beg of it, convinces Chris, and he climbs up higher, maneuvering first one leg and then the other over Chord’s shoulders, until he’s settled on his knees with one hand buried on Chord’s hair and the other braced against the headboard. He flexes his ankles under Chord’s arms. “Okay?”

“Yeah. C’mere.”

Chord pulls Chris down, and before he can steady himself in the new position he feels it, Chord’s mouth, hot, soft lips pressing firmly against him, moving restlessly. A wet tongue probes against sensitive skin, and Chris shuts his eyes and works on not letting his mouth run away with him. Chord keeps going, lifting Chris up slightly to take quick, shaky breaths, and then pulling him down again. Chris settles one forearm against the wall, resting his forehead against it and taking himself in hand as Chord’s smooth tongue works him, mouth slick against his hole.

“ _God_ ,” Chris breathes, twisting his fist beneath the head of his cock and rocking down, grinding himself onto Chord’s face.

Chord makes a questioning sound without taking his mouth away from Chris, and Chris tugs at the hair in his grasp, scraping his nails over Chord’s scalp. His voice is high, made up of mostly breath and desperation. “It’s good. It feels so good. Keep going.”

Chord lets out an agreeable noise and tugs Chris down tighter, licking up behind Chris’s balls and then stiffening his tongue, dragging it down, breaching Chris and wringing a gasp from him.

“Oh god. Mother  _fucker_ ,” Chris pants. His thighs tense and draw closer together, clamping around Chord’s ears, and the bright, wet slip of Chord’s tongue presses closer and hotter, writhing against him. Clenching his fingers in Chord’s hair and holding him firm against the mattress, Chris rides his mouth, grinding closer, chasing the slick pressure that’s never quite enough.

Chord takes it perfectly, arms wrapped over Chris’s thighs from behind, holding him close and licking up into him.

Chris’s hips squirm as he pumps his cock a few more times, spreading precome around the shiny, purpled tip with shaking fingers, and then he pushes off from the wall, making a decision. “Let me g- mm, god. Let me go.” Tapping at Chord’s straining forearms and clenching at an unexpected scrape of teeth. “C-  _fuck_  - come on. I want you to use your fingers.”

“And then my cock,” Chord says gruffly as Chris untangles his legs from around Chord’s shoulders.

“And then your cock,” Chris agrees, smiling as he pats Chord’s cheek and then wipes the spit from his mouth and chin with a cupped palm, kissing him swiftly before leaning back up.

Chord grunts, petting a hand down Chris’s chest and wrapping it around Chris’s cock, thumb stroking over the swollen head. “You’re so hard.” He lets go, fumbling around by pillows until his fingers close around the bottle of lube.

“Well,” Chris says, lifting up and settling down over Chord’s cock, rocking against the hot, hard length of it. “You’re pretty good with your mouth.” Leaning forward, Chris nuzzles down under Chord’s jaw as their chests press together. “Let’s see how you are with your fingers.”

Chris shifts a little, lining up their cocks between them and arching his back, pressing them even closer together and lifting his ass as Chord’s slick fingers slip down and prod between his legs, clumsy and oddly endearing. Chris closes his eyes and flexes his stomach, precome easing the glide of their cocks together.

“You’re so hot,” Chord breathes, pressing one fingertip in. “You’re so hot inside, oh fuck.”

“You like it?” Chris asks, gasping as Chord’s dick surges, twitching against him. Chris still isn’t sure if the situation has sunk in yet, for either of them, but it’s impossible to ignore how into it Chord is, how well he responds and how eager he is to please and be pleased.

“I like everything about you,” Chord whispers, one leg wrapping around the back of Chris’s thigh and anchoring him close as he thrusts up. “ _Fuck_.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Chris warns as Chord’s dick twitches again. His previous contemplation slips away as he grips Chord’s hair and yanks his head back, exposing his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Chord says, throat bobbing with a swallow. His fingers press against Chris, insistent and artless and thick. “Please kiss me, please. I’m sorry.”

“No,  _no_ , come on,” Chris urges, grabbing Chord’s face and trying to get up on his knees, but Chord’s leg holds him in place. “Don’t you dare.”

Chord’s eyes squeeze shut and his finger slips out of Chris, both hands clamping down on Chris’s ass as he fucks up against him. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- please kiss me, Chris, please.”

“Oh fuck you,” Chris groans, grabbing Chord’s jaw and rocking down. “You are in so much trouble,” he hisses, just before slamming their lips together.

Chord comes with a choked back grunt, mouth open and wet beneath the insistence of Chris’s lips and tongue. He spills between them and keeps thrusting, hips jerking sporadically and throat catching on wrecked whimpers.

“ _So_  much trouble,” Chris repeats once he finally comes up for air. He pushes off of Chord’s shoulders and wrenches Chord’s hands off his ass, climbing onto the mattress. “Turn over.”

“Huh?” Chord asks, cock messy and softening against his hip, eyes glaze-over.

“This?” Chris says, gripping Chord’s cock and giving it a squeeze, drawing a shout out of Chord. “Was mine, and you wasted it. So roll over, because you. Are. In.  _Trouble_.”

Chord rolls over awkwardly with a whispered “ _Fuck_.” His arms curl under himself and his hips jerk away from the mattress like it’s shocking him.

Chris wraps a hand around his aching cock, tacky with Chord’s come, and shuffles closer on his knees to drag his free hand over the pale swell of Chord’s ass. “You know what I’m going to do?”

“You’re gonna fuck me?” Chord posits, voice still gruff from his orgasm. “Or spank me,” he corrects himself when Chris swats him sharply just above his thigh.

“How many, do you think?” Chris asks, walking his fingers over the curve of Chord’s ass, splaying them out over his lower back. “For making me wait?”

“How many… do  _you_  think?” Chord asks, turning his head and crossing his arms under his cheek, watching Chris carefully.

“Maybe I should just spank you until you get hard again, hm?”  Chris suggests, sweetening his tone and stroking a palm lovingly over Chord’s ass. “And then use you like I wanted to.”

“I don’t- know if I can,” Chord says haltingly, an apologetic look on his face that makes Chris want to pull his hair. “It hurts, and I-”

Chris shushes him, bending down until they’re eye-to-eye and stroking Chord’s sweaty hair behind his ear. “If you can’t get it up again tonight I’ll have to wait until morning, but you’re getting another set of fifteen strokes when we wake up, how’s that?”

“Fifteen?” Chord asks with a hesitant smile, the worry melting from his features. Chris kind of misses it.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to,” Chris says, straightening up. “But they’re going to hurt.”

Chord nods, his cheek smashed and catching against his forearm.

“I want you to count them,” Chris says, eyeing the vulnerable curve of Chord’s ass, palm itching to smack the smooth, pale skin. “As they happen, okay? Say it out loud or it won’t count.”

“Okay,” Chord says quietly, swallowing and shifting on the bed, wriggling until his ass is raised, holding steady a few inches off the mattress.

Chris wraps his left hand around his cock when it throbs, squeezing in a futile attempt to abate the ache, and takes a deep breath. “Here it goes,” he says under his breath, mostly for his own benefit, though he sees Chord bite his lip.

He doesn’t waste any time with the first stroke, just lifts his hand and flexes it briefly, curling his fingers in and then shaking them out before bringing his flattened palm down hard against the soft flesh of Chord’s ass. The smack is a shock to his system, the sound and the sting in his hand, the firmness and give of Chord’s ass.

Chord sucks in a breath and falters out a, “O-one.” His ass prickles with goosebumps, blooming pink where Chris’s hand hit. The sight sends a wave of heat down Chris’s spine, stinging fire across his shoulders and up the back of his neck. He feels dangerous, in control. Looking down at the bend of Chord’s exposed neck, Chris wants to grab it, wants to hold him against the mattress and wreck him, but the raw, heavy need surging through him keeps his fist around his cock.

“Fuck,” Chris says breathlessly, squeezing his cock again and starting up a slow, light stroke, the angle of his left hand unfamiliar on his oversensitive skin. He doesn’t give Chord much time to recover, striking over the blush of where the first one landed, and then on the other cheek as soon as Chord stutters out his count.

Chord’s hips twitch restlessly, sporadic against the steady rhythm of the blows, into the mattress and then away, meeting Chris’s falling palm.

Gritting his teeth against the throb in his balls, Chris listens to the sounds, to the thrum of pumping blood in his ears and the smack of skin, to the gruff, hollow catch in Chord’s whimpering shouts, his wavering, stumbling count. Chris feels the dark, powerful ache in the pit of his stomach, the abandoned slickness in his ass, and lands the next smack harder, low on Chord’s ass where the flesh is tender and so, so pale.

Chord jerks into the mattress with a yelp, ass bouncing with remnants of the force, and his hands fist the bed covers, legs shifting and face wet with tears as he trembles out a tired-sounding, “ _F-fourteen_.”

“One more,” Chris feels the loss already, hand ghosting over the red-hot skin of Chord’s ass, his trembling thighs. “You can make it, baby.”

Chord whines at Chris’s words, wiping his eyes across his forearm as his knees slide against the blanket.

“Hold still,” Chris tells him, moving to straddle one of Chord’s thighs. “Just- just hold still. It’ll be okay.”

Stroking his hand up Chord’s shuddering, hitching back, Chris arches his own spine carefully, one thumb pushing his cock down, until the shiny, purple head is rubbing slickly against the reddest, hottest patch of skin on Chord’s ass, the center of a vague scarlet handprint. “Last one,” Chris says through a thick catch in his throat, wringing his shaking fingers just below the head of his cock, smearing precome across Chord’s skin as he raises his right hand and rocks down. “Can you take it?”

“Mm,” Chord vocalizes, mouth trapped against his arm.

“What was that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Chord strains out, turning his head to gasp freely. “Yes, please,  _please_ , oh god-”

_Crack_

Chord shouts and bucks and whimpers at the contact, and Chris keeps his hand on Chord’s ass for a beat, kneading and rubbing, before the urge is too strong and he switches hands on his cock. The familiar pace and pressure of his right hand on his cock is a shock, a sweet, painful oversensitivity, and he gasps and falls forward, catching himself with a hand between Chord’s shoulder blades. He pushes at Chord, steadies him and presses him down, jerking his cock fast and desperate against the searing skin of Chord’s ass.

“Fuck,” Chris bites out, breathing through his teeth. “Fuck, Chord, you did so good. You feel so good.”

Chord whimpers and gasps, the leg not under Chris’s weight sliding to the side, spreading his ass under Chris’s touch. “Fif-fifteen.”

“I’m gonna come,” Chris whines, strangled and high. It’s a plea and a warning and a realization as something snaps inside, cracks open and spills him out. “ _Fuck_.”

He shoots all over Chord’s ass, his bones aching and emptying out as thick strands of come paint stripes and splatters against Chord’s blushing hot skin.

“ _God_ , Chord, oh my god-”

Chord’s voice is tremulous and high, with a questioning lilt to it that wraps something warm around Chris’s chest and tugs it tight. “Chris?”

“Are you okay?” Chris asks immediately, sliding off Chord’s thigh and down next to him on the mattress, stroking his tingling fingers over Chord’s wet, flushed cheek. “Was it too much?”

Chord shakes his head, leaning into Chris’s touch. “Not too much.”

“But a lot.”

Smiling, Chord nods and wriggles closer, turning stiffly onto his side. “A  _lot_.”

“You did,” Chris says, sliding close and tangling their legs together, “ _so_  well. I don’t think you even need the spanking in the morning, okay?”

“Mm, I could fuck you, though,” Chord says, voice slurring slightly. “Feel.” He bumps his hips up against Chris’s, his cock hot and thick even though the contact makes him shudder.

Chris laughs and slips a hand down to cup Chord gently, holding him carefully. “I think your dick might actually fall off if we used it again right now.”

“I’d give it to you, just like my nipple,” Chord says after a moment. “But definitely as a blame thing.  _Look what you made me do_.”

“Oh really?”

Nodding, Chord thrusts his hips shortly, pushing harder into Chris’s palm. “I’d poke you with it.”

“I’d put it on a shelf,” Chris decides, letting go of the dick in question and sliding his hand over Chord’s hip, fingertips barely brushing against the overheated skin of Chord’s ass. “I’ll have to start a special shelf for all the things that have fallen off of you.”

“Right below your llama shelf,” Chord says through a yawn.

“Exactly.” Chris waits until Chord is done yawning before he leans in and kisses him. Chord responds, eager and vaguely sloppy like all the other times, and they only break apart when Chord yawns again.

“We should shower before we fall asleep,” Chris says, rolling away and smiling at Chord’s disappointed whine when their legs untangle. “So we don’t wake up caked in grossness.”

“Can we do it together?” Chord asks, pushing himself up with a tired groan.

“Of course,” Chris says, turning around and ignoring his own lanky nakedness to look at Chord, perfect and golden and covered in Chris’s marks. He holds out a hand, palm up, as Chord shuffles around the foot of the bed, rubbing at one of his eyes. “Join me.”

“Join me,” Chord echoes immediately, voice low and inflection familiar as he drops his chin and grabs Chris’s hand. “And together we can rule the galaxy!”

“New rule: no Star Wars in the bedroom.”

“I have Wookie sheets.”

“…Besides the Wookie sheets, then.”

“What about the bathroom? Is there Star Wars in the bathroom?”

“No.”

“But I have this toothbrush-”

“Shut up, Chord.”


End file.
